


Antagonism

by INMH



Series: trope-bingo Fanfiction Fills 2018 (2nd Half) [14]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Drama, Drunk Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Sexual Content, Smut, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 16:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15933962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: They got to let it out somehow. Hank/Gavin.





	Antagonism

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was "May-December Romance".
> 
> So this isn’t necessarily a romance, because it's two people who hate each other, and I don’t know if it fits the definition of a May-December Romance (every definition I’ve seen says ‘significant’ age difference, so the wording is vague, but the examples tend to indicate 20+ years.) 
> 
> So, I mean... May-December Hate Fuck?

“Stop moving.”  
  
“I’m not. You’re just drunk.”  
  
They both are, but Gavin thinks Hank might be drunker.  
  
And really, what does it matter if he moves? He’s bent over the kitchen table and Hank’s cock has found his asshole just fine, so Gavin’s not going anywhere. He wouldn’t want to anyway, even if Hank’s not lubed up quite enough and he can _feel_ the friction and the drag as Hank gives him those first few shallow thrusts.  
  
Gavin’s propped up on his elbows, squirming because his hoodie’s hiked up and bunched up funny under him, pinned between him and the surface of Hank’s kitchen table. He reaches over and grabs (what he thinks is?) his bottle of beer, taking a good swig of it because he figures that once Hank really gets going ( _if_ he ever gets going) he’s not gonna be able to hold it properly, even though he can’t hold it that well now.  
  
“You’re _moving_.”  
  
“I’m not,” Gavin grunts, slamming the bottle down on top of the table. “You’re seeing double ‘cuz you’re fucking _drunk_ , old man”  
  
Hank slaps his ass, and Gavin bucks forward, then backward, hissing as he accidentally pulls Hank in deeper. “Fucker.”  
  
“You’re a fucker.”  
  
“ _You’re_ a fucker.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m fucking you, aren’t I?”  
  
“Then fucking do it already, _fuck._ ”  
  
Two assholes trying to have a conversation while wasted: Pure poetry.  
  
(Gavin will remember this tomorrow and consider bashing his head against the wall until he passes out.)  
  
Hank really starts up then, and Gavin has to lay his arms flat on the table because balancing on his elbows is too difficult and he’ll probably end up face-planting into the dirty wood. The part of his stomach right below his belly-button is hitting the edge of the table with increasing speed, and it’s uncomfortable, but he can withstand it in the short-term.  
  
The old man’s probably not going to last that long anyway.  
  
“Are you even inside me?” Gavin asks, not because he means it but because he’s a fucking asshole and one of his greatest pleasures in this life is getting under everyone’s skin, but especially Hank Anderson’s. There’s just no fun in fucking Hank if he can’t drive him fucking crazy in the process, is there? “Because I don’t feel shit. Your prick is ridiculously small. Must have shriveled in your old age.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“I wish you would, I didn’t come here for the conversation. Fuck knows you can’t give it, you fucking drunk.”  
  
Hank braces one hand on Gavin’s face, and uses the other to shove his face down against the table. He thrusts harder, faster, though without any of the elegance he might have had if he were doing this sober, and Gavin absolutely notices that he’s going out of his way not to touch his cock. They’re not doing this because they like each other, it’s not like they find each other attractive either, they’re doing it because…  
  
…Why are they doing this?  
  
Well, they gotta get this aggression for each other out somehow, and Fowler frowns on fist-fights more than he does fucking, so, whatever, this is what they’re doing.  
  
“You feeling it now?” Hank growls.  
 _  
Yeah_ , yeah, Gavin’s feeling it, he’s feeling his cheek scraping against the wood and Hank’s hand on his waist and his cock bumping against his lower stomach and Hank’s cock inside him, in and out, in and out, and occasionally he’s hitting that nice spot that makes being the bottom-bitch worth it.  
  
Gavin holds back the moans, though, because Hank’s already going to have the smug satisfaction of fucking Gavin into a solid surface and he won’t give him the pleasure of knowing Gavin enjoyed it too.  
  
“No, I still can’t feel shit. Did you have trouble fitting the shape-blocks into the right holes in pre-school too?” Gavin laughs roughly. “Right, forgot, you didn’t have those in the stone-age, did you grampa?”  
  
Gavin’s natural state is shit-talking; he can’t be expected to be nice just because Hank’s showing him a decent time.  
  
(Decent, and _only_ decent. Gavin will never cop to ‘good’ or ‘great’.)  
  
“I swear to fucking _God_ if you call me old again, I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born you fucking brat.”  
  
Gavin jerks back, takes him deeper, and hisses as he comes.  
  
“Like to see you try, _old man._ ”  
   
-End


End file.
